The Darkness Within
by oceanlover4evr
Summary: Upset after a meeting gone wrong, England vows to summon a demon to show the other nations that magic does exist. However, it goes badly wrong. Now the Darkness Within is spreading, and soon none of them will be able to see the light.


I do not own Hetalia. If I did, then I would not be posting this here on FFN now, would I?

* * *

><p>England muttered under his breath as he worked alone in the dusky room. He was on his knees, drawing a circle on the rough floor with a stub of white chalk, occasionally consulting the dusty grimoire opened reverently right next to him. As he began to finish, he started to cackle madly. Let that bloody frog take this! It'd be the last time the Frenchman or any other nation took him for a mad fool. He'd give them a taste for his skills in Dark Magyk!<p>

A few hours before….

Another meeting, same old, same old. England had always wondered why they had bothered with these. For centuries, decades, years, the meetings had always been the same, France, forever lewd and perverted, would always be hitting on, if not outright groping, the poor unfortunate soul that could not escape away in time. America would come up with another idiotic idea, laugh his irritating laugh, and munch away at an absurdly huge pile of junk food, enough to feed all of the African nations, but barely enough to sate the hunger of the North-American country. Japan, of course, would always agree with Am4e4rica, no matter how outrageous and outlandish his ideas were, Switzerland would admonish Japan, while simultaneously threatening anyone who got too close to Lichtenstein with his gun(s). Belarus would be stalking Russia, who in turn would be frightening the (ex) Baltic States and bothering China. Italy would whimper from all the commotion, would result in Germany barking out commands, leading to a few moments of order and sanity, before it slipped and started all over again.

England sighed. This was just so bloody _stupid_. He didn't know why he bothered coming; No one ever got anything done in the end. To make matters worse, he could feel a migraine coming on.

"England, England!" Any unhappiness said nation was experiencing immediately melted away, and he inwardly cheered. Just when he needed them, his friends came! His spirits rose as he caught sight of the Flying Mint Bunny.

"Minty, darling, why hello! I didn't expect you to be here today. Is everything all right? How's Tinkerbell? Or how about Uni? I haven't seen them in ages, you guys must _simply_ come for tea and scones sometimes."

The winged-rabbit gave a chuckle and nuzzled England's cheek. "We missed you too! I'm sure they'd love to come, you're scones and teas are the best."

England nodded wisely. "The other nations simply have _no_ taste when it comes to food. Just look at how China drinks his tea! He doesn't add _anything_ to it. How he drinks the stuff is anyone's guess. And no one ever appreciates scones. I honestly don't know why!"

Minty shook his head sadly. "They just don't understand. But we do, and we'll always be here for you. Don't forget that."

England felt a small smile grace his lips. "I won't. You probably should get going, though. I'll be fine here. Remember to come by my house sometimes, will you?

"Of course!" With that, they exchanged their farewells and the Flying Mint Bunny glided away. England raised his hand to wave goodbye, and then lowered it. And realized something was horribly wrong.

The room was quiet, too quiet. England felt dread bubbling up from his stomach. He forced himself to turn around-

-and found himself facing room full of gawking nations.

Some, like Germany and Japan, looked concerned. Others, like America and Prussia, were shaking and rolling on the floor, howling with silent laughter. France was the one to break the awkward silence.

"_Merde, Angleterre_, are you feeling all right?"

America, after much difficulty, overcame hi laughter long enough to choke out, "Dude, it's all good! England's always been a bit touched in the head. Missing a few marbles ever since I was a kid, if you know what I mean."

England felt his heat up, and his cheeks burn. Angrily, with a choke voice, he retorted, "Just because you can't see them doesn't mean they don't exist."

France chuckled. "_Mon ami_, magic doesn't exist. This is the 21st century, and it's about time you faced reality."

Germany was still looking at him with much concern. "You should have informed me you were sick! The responsible thing to do would have been staying home to prevent the other nations from getting sick as well. I advise a three day rest in bed, with no extraneous activities. Drink plenty of fluids and keep yourself warm."

England snapped, "I am _not_ hallucinating, and I am _not_ crazy! Magic _is_ real!"

He looked across the room. Some nations, like China, avoided his eyes, while others, like Norway, looked on with sympathy and pity. Then there were the others…

America hooted, "Yeah, sure, magic is real! Go back to Hogwarts, old man. Or are you still waiting for your letter?" He and Prussia dissolved into bigger bouts of laughter.

"Fine." England growled through gritted teeth. He clenched his fists, feeling the nails dig into his palms, piercing the skin and flesh. "I _will_ prove to you magic exists, if it's the last thing I do!" The nation grabbed his coat and stormed (didn't flee, didn't run, _stormed_) out of the room. _Those were not tears of frustration prickling his eyes_. As he swiftly strode down the hallway, he heard Italy's distinctive voice.

"Ve~~ does that mean we could have pasta now?"

*End Flashback*

England's chalk snapped in half, and he swore. He quickly pulled another stub from one of his numerous pockets, and completed the circle. He opened his box of dribbly candles (mind you, dribbly candles are important, very important, when it comes to certain rites. Of course, 4 cc of mouse-blood and three small sticks, or a fresh egg and two small sticks, works just as well) and took twelve of them out, placing them at each corner of the pentacle and each angle of the heptagon. Striking a match, he lit all twelve of the candles, being careful not to smudge the lines of the circle.

Candles lit, he stepped back to survey his work. Perfect. This time, he would summon a mighty demon, worse than even Russia (blast it, if Russia appeared again, England might as well take a page from Japan's book and commit suicide). Let his fellow nations laugh in disbelief then!

He picked up the tome, and flipped the page. Squinting in the dim light of the candles, he began to chant.

A small breeze blew through the room, gradually growing stronger, making the candles sputter and hiss. Shadows danced on the walls in the flickering light like the particles of a pagan ritual. An ominous presence, evil and malevolent, pressed down, filling the room. England faltered a bit, then resumed his changing, strong as ever. The important thing to bear in mind during a summoning was not to mess-up and not to stop once the spell had started. Otherwise, you were, as they say, screwed.

As he chanted, he could hear soft whispered mutterings. The shadows in the pentacle seemed to grow darker, ominous-er, gaining more substance. The glow of the twelve candles could not penetrate the darkness. And the shadows grew and grew, until a vague outline formed inside the circle.

"Who dares summon me?" The voice was a thousand snakes hissing away, a hundred dying cries, a million screams of agony. England felt his blood boil and scalp prickle. Swallowing audibly, his throat suddenly dry, he attempted to finish the spell. Was this _supposed _to happen? Uneasy, he continued, tongue tripping and stumbling over his words.

"-With your name, I bind thee to my service. And I, the United Kingdoms of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, name myself as your new master-"

The entity chuckled, a deep and sinister sound. "But do you _really_ know my name, my nature? For if you did, you would not have been so foolish as to summon me. The last time a nation did so, he fell, hard. Rome, Roman Empire, I believe he was called?"

That surprised England into silence, and too late did he realize his mistake. One by one, the candles winked out. The small breeze became a gale of wind, moaning like all the souls of the damned. The atmosphere grew oppressively heavy, crushing him down like a mountain.

_Oh bugger_, though England, as the last candle sputtered out, plunging him into darkness. The wind gave a final strong gust, knocking him backwards. There was an audible _crack_ and thump as he hit the wall and fell heavily onto the floor.

The voice continued, amused. "Really, little wizard-nation, I must thank you. It's been a long while since I was free to roam this world. For that, I will spare you, just this once." With that, the heavy pressure and presence disappeared,

England lay on the ground, trying to blink away stars. It didn't work. He could feel something warm and sticky dripping down his face, and hoped it wasn't his blood. The pain faded, then returned in a sudden wave, making him gasp. His vision wavered.

_What have I done?_

Then it all faded to black.

* * *

><p>A cookie to all those who get the reference.<p> 


End file.
